But only if you fear being both the subject of a blog AND having one of your comments USED as a blog! I find one of the most difficult things—no, wait, THE most difficult thing—about blogging is worrying about the controversy it might stir up. Add to that the fact that the most salacious blogs get the most hits and you could make a great argument for blogging not being a business for which I’m perfectly cut.

It’s not that I mind disagreement. Several blogs back I actually talked about this very thing. Civil discourse. You remember. (Sure you do, because you read every one of my blogs. Right? RIIIIIGHT?). Call it what you will: respectful debate, civil discourse—it all means the same thing. We can agree to disagree and still learn something in the process.

But the Internet. Ohhh, the filthy, blood-caked, low-rent INTERNET. The Internet gets to be like that really quaint Irish pub on the corner downtown with the great bands, twenty outstanding beers on tap, and doesn’t even smell too much like barley-hops urine and vomit—but every other damn night someone (or two, or three) gets too drunk and there it is…a knock-down, tear-the-place-apart brawl. Never fails, does it? Right hooks, left uppercuts, gut punches, and even some good old fashioned cheap-shot eye-gouging…it’s ugly and the more you fight the worse it becomes.

You know the old saying. Want to start an argument? Express an opinion on the Internet.

Well a funny little thing happened on a stroll down Binary Lane the other day. I blogged. A commenter espoused. I blogged in response. The commenter wrote a SECOND comment worthy of a blog itself…and during NONE of it was anyone disrespectful, derogatory, disparaging, or disreputable. It was glorious. Honestly. It was everything I think a respectful exchange of thoughts, suggestions, agreements, disagreements, and practical discourse should be. In fact, the second comment from my beloved commenter (named Jericha Senyak, by the way, a lovely woman, artist, model, mind, and spirit you can—and should—get to know right here) was so incredible I wanted to use it as a guest blog, all on its own. We should all be able to talk, communicate, and yes, even argue, with such eloquence, grace, intelligence, and outright civilization. Here is Jericha’s comment in its entirety (reposted here with her permission):

Okay, let me just fess up right here and say yup, that was me, and okay, Rob, I am guilty as charged, or mostly. I was unfair to your post – because after reading it (which I did, thoroughly, four times, before I commented, and I took a few days to think about what I wanted to say) and the comments as well, I did a bad thing – I used your post as a soapbox. And I apologize. That was not good of me. You didn’t deserve it, and your readers didn’t deserve it. And I’d like to thank you for this post, which very gently and thoughtfully points out the flaws in what I wrote, and made me think VERY hard (and with a startled jolt of guilt!!) about what I’d said.

I DID make a sweeping statement about “what writing is.” That’s no good. I should totally know better than to do that. I also used a lot of “you” in that comment, and that was bad too – I didn’t mean it as you, specifically, Rob, I meant it in the sense of “one,” but it shoulda been a red flag: whoa, Jericha, start making some I-statements here. I do think you quoted it out of context – the context being that fame and fortune are things involving a hefty dollop of chance for almost all creative people – but then you did, also include a mention of the mild dramatization of what I said (In order, I assume, to illustrate its impact on you?) and that was nice.

Here’s what I meant, said another way: if I met a kid who had started writing a novel because she thought novel-writing was a quick ticket to fame and fortune, I would need to stifle my uncontrollable urge to pee myself laughing. But I said “you,” and going back to reread it, it DOES look like I’m pointing fingers. I didn’t mean to! I swear! I was generalizing! It was bad!

Now, I did NOT say (and do not believe!) that writing to sell books will make said writing cease to have heart. I know you noted that those were your words, not mine, and I appreciate that – because what I meant, and what I did not say well at all, was not “writing for money is dumb and awful” but rather “it’s pretty hard to make money writing, and if you’re in writing for the dolla dolla bills you might want to look into a better-paying profession.” Not because it’s impossible to make money as a writer, or because writers who make money are sell-outs, or because the quality of our writing necessarily suffers when we make money. Just because writing, and especially writing fiction, is not exactly a hot ticket to a paycheck, and yes, I DO get puzzled when folks get upset about not making money off their art, of ANY kind, because although it CAN happen and as far as I’m concerned OUGHT to happen a lot MORE, it doesn’t happen very often and if it did there wouldn’t be blogs like this one. (Sudden thought: am I just wildly, idiotically wrong about this? Is it actually relatively easy and I just have some stupid romantic notion of the starving artist? Uh oh…) Sure, the JK Rowlings and the Damien Hirsts of the world exist, but so do lottery ticket winners, and they kind of serve the same function: they’re part of the grand story of success, like the white picket fence and the self-made man and the bootstrapping college student. I didn’t mean one shouldn’t enjoy the monetary benefits of one’s labor, or strive to obtain them. I just meant that if money is your driving motivation, there’s a problem, because it’s rarely the outcome – of good writing (or any kind of art) OR bad.

But yes, mea culpa, I got on my high horse. Sorry. I’m off the horse and humbly apologizing, because I DO see how my comment (which was genuinely meant to say “gee, Rob, yeah, it sucks to not be able to write full-time, but I think you’re having a pretty awesome impact despite that!”) could be read as “people who write for money are sell-outs who don’t make AHT” (cue noble strains of violins here). I just get mad, not at you, Rob, not at other writers, but at the system that tells us that we can be wildly famous and successful or be nothing. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with not getting famous – with being where you are right now, for example, reaching readers, starting conversations, etc – a place I’d love to be myself, certainly. Yes, it would be nice for anyone making art to be able to do it full-time, whether from sales of said art or from being independently wealthy or any other way, because we need artists and it’d be really a much nicer world if we valued them as much as we do our investment bankers. And yes, having a different job DOES take away from your creative time – god knows I’m aware of that. I did NOT mean to imply that we should all just, you know, be in it for the general spiritual good of humankind and we should be thankful for being thrown the financial equivalent of scraps.

Artwork courtesy of Paul Basye

I guess it just made me really sad and frustrated to think of you reaching these hundreds of people, getting into the thousands, every year, and feeling like it’s not good enough. You were writing about wanting to reach the masses (ah, the elusive masses!) and I wanted to put in a vote for the masses maybe just not mattering as much as we think. Again, not because reaching the masses means YOU’RE A SELLOUT ZOMG, but because it’s awesome that you’re reaching anyone at ALL within the galactic vastness of the internet, and I just get bummed out at the idea that we’re all – creative folk generally – being sold this idea that IT’S NOT ENOUGH UNTIL YOU’RE TOTALLY FAMOUS. I do not have the impression, Rob, that you’re writing in order to get rich; as far as I can tell, richness would be an extremely nice perk as far as you’re concerned (am I right about this?) but isn’t the driving motivation, or you wouldn’t have made the comment about continuing to write if you were independently wealthy.

In short, I was writing a grumpy, somewhat self-righteous stop-feeling-sorry-for-yourself-you’re-doing-pretty-awesomely-I-think-anyway diatribe, but as with any time someone tells you to stop whinging and keep a stiff upper lip, it came across as less encouraging and more just plain snobbish. Um, whoops. Trying to learn my lesson here. I do really appreciate the thoughtful way you presented your feelings about my comment from your perspective (and the compliment to me as a person – geez, that was unnecessarily nice of you) and hopefully it will soothe your injured feelings a little to know that reading what you’ve written here did genuinely impact me and make me reconsider what I’D written. (Guilt twinge, guilt twinge!) You got me thinking hard, and I’m grateful for having my tactlessness and generalizing pointed out in such a genteel fashion. I’ll think a little harder before I post next time, honest.